


Some Good Things For Us

by sinuous_curve



Category: Fast and the Furious Series
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, drugs/aphrodisiacs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-18
Updated: 2011-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-23 20:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinuous_curve/pseuds/sinuous_curve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Brian lights up the joint and takes a first, long exhale with the tip glowing and a thin stream of smoke curling up into the air. Dom watches him with an easy smile; he likes this two, how Brian’s eyes slide closed and his shoulders visibly unwind into an easy, languid slouch. He scrubs his fingers through his hair and smiles up to the vast, endless sky. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Good Things For Us

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta-ed as hell. S'up.

After the sun sets, and they’ve closed up the garage for the night and eaten dinner, Brian and Dom usually end up in the sprawling lot of land that gets called the back yard. It’s almost five acres of scrubby brush and cactus casting long shadows against the bruise colored sky, empty and endless.

Dom sprawls in a wooden lawn lounge chair, cold beer held loosely between his fingers. He ran for so long he lost the rhythm of a home, and having that back is a sweet little thing. Work all day in his place, and come night he smells like grease and oil and engine parts and his shoulders ache in the right, familiar places. He has beer, and Brian and a bone deep contentment that keeps him solidly, steadily anchored in place.

Beside him, Brian sits on a low slung chair with his legs spread wide to bracket a small table. His hair’s grown out long and curling around his ears and the sun bleaches is blonder and blonder with every day that passes. He’s got sharply delineated tans lines on his neck and arms. Dom is amused by them, and endeared. He murmurs, _fucking snowman_ to Brian’s lily white stomach sometimes in bed and laughs when he blushes.

On the table, Brian neatly arranges his papers and lighter and plastic baggie of weed, humming something under his breath as the first stars begin to blink to light overhead. Dom watches him with lazy, half-lidded eyes.

Dom gets a better high off driving fast and reckless. Brian does, too, but it’s all too wrapped up in the competition for him to completely do the job. (Except when it’s Dom driving and them alone in the desert, screaming and whooping and sending rifts of sanding arcing ten feet into the sky with screeching tires. They fuck out there, on the hood, with the dry air making their skin paper rough and sweat slicking them back together. They can be loud and reckless.)

What he appreciates is the deftness of Brian’s fingers and his concentration. Brian likes routine, though he won’t cop to that even when pushes. Dom’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have made it as far as he did as a cop if he didn’t get something out of the one-two, up-down, yes-sir-no-sir shit.

Dom finds that is assembling and disassembling engines. To each their own, he guesses.

“This was one of the hardest parts of being a cop,” Brian says, licking along the paper and rolling the joint.

“Smoking weed?” Dom asks with a snort.

Brian rolls his eyes and flips him off, without heat and with a touch affection. He picks up his lighter, a battered silver thing that’s always floating somewhere in his pockets, and flicks it open. “Not smoking weed. And arresting people for it. Felt hypocritical.”

There’s a wealth of things Dom could say about Brian’s hypocrisy, but he refrains.

Brian lights up the joint and takes a first, long exhale with the tip glowing and a thin stream of smoke curling up into the air. Dom watches him with an easy smile; he likes this two, how Brian’s eyes slide closed and his shoulders visibly unwind into an easy, languid slouch. He scrubs his fingers through his hair and smiles up to the vast, endless sky.

“You gonna share that?” Dom asks, draining the last of his beer. He lets the bottle slip from his fingers and thunk softly in the dirt and scrub.

For a moment, Brian slides his gaze consideringly to Dom, then smiles and levers himself up out of his chair. He swings his leg over Dom’s lap and drops down to straddle him. Brian’s weight is warm and solid and familiar on Dom’s thighs and hips, as it ought to be, after how many hours he’s spent in that same position.

Dom’s hands settle on Brian’s hips like they belong there. His jeans are soft from a hundred washings and starting to thin out in places. Dom hooks his thumbs in the belt loops and looks up at Brian, silhouetted and shadowed against the darkening sky. Brian takes another hit, ostentatiously filling his lungs with his head tipped back.

He looks down at Brian with his cheeks puffed out and Dom snorts. He looks like those fish that inflate when they get freaked.

“That’s not sharing,” Dom says.

He sees intent in Brian’s eyes a split second before he bends down and seals his mouth over Dom’s. Brian exhales long and slow and Dom has to breathe in; the smoke that fills up his chest is acrid and pungent. It’s a little ridiculous and a little sexy at the same time. Brian settles his elbows on Dom’s shoulders and cocks his head so their mouths slip together at that just right, familiar angle.

Brian breaks the kind-of-kiss and pulls back just a few inches, so when Dom exhales a long, heavy breathe the twice-used smoke clouds around his face, then dissipates slowly upward toward the sky.

“How long have you wanted to do that?” Dom asks.

Brian grins. “Fuck you,” he says, bending down for another kiss.


End file.
